The Art of Forgiving
by Miss-LiMei
Summary: 'Even if he were to disregard the rumours, the question still remained: "Why is Harry Potter's best friend, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, drinking herself into a stupor and crying her eyes out alone in a dirty old pub?"' Draco will do anything to find out what Hermione is hiding. But will he be able to handle what he finds?
1. Of Kings and Firewhiskey

A/N: I don't own anything except Callie and Rosie. JK does. This is my first fic, so please don't get mad if it takes me a while to update. I promise I'm working on it! Also, please review! I really value your feedback and if certain requests are made, I'll do my best to incorporate them into the story. Let me know what you think! Ciao babies! ~Li Mei

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Chapter 1: Of Kings and Firewhiskey

"Thank Merlin for Kingsley Shacklebolt!" thought Hermione Granger as she reflected over the last three years. She kicked off her grey heels and pulled the pins out of her hair, shaking it free of its French twist as she plopped unceremoniously onto the dark leather couch, sighing in relief. This couch had always been her favorite.

Her pensive look softened as she gazed at the picture closest to her. Only taken a month ago, it was also the most recent picture in the room. Hermione in the picture laughed as she flipped the hair out of her face, chasing a young child in and out of the frame until she finally caught the little rascal and hoisted her onto her shoulders, both of them attempting to smile for the picture, only to erupt in more giggles. The girl atop her shoulders wore a birthday hat and a ridiculously happy expression, the kind only a child can manage. Try as she might, Hermione rarely saw anything of Kingsley in the little girl. Other than her darker skin, Callista only seemed to inherit Kingsley's charismatic demeanor.

When the war ended, Kingsley had stepped in as Minister to oversee the reconstruction of the wizarding world, and when it seemed that her life had ended, Kingsley stepped in again as the strong male figure she needed. He gave Hermione a place in his family, a place she would never take for granted. Then, her place was solidified with the birth of Callista.

Callie was easily the best thing in Hermione's life from the past three years. While she was grateful for her position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, she felt she could never measure up to the example Dumbledore provided. Truthfully, she would have been happier with an appointment in the Department for the Care of Magical Creatures, but Kingsley insisted that she was the most qualified for the position of power, and the most deserving since she didn't desire it.

"Mistress Hermione," a squeaky voice called, drawing her out of her memories. She blinked a few times and turned toward the kitchen, from whence the voice had come.

"In here, Rosie," she answered, allowing a small smile to spread across her face as she heard a quick pattering of feet alongside Rosie's almost noiseless gait.

"Mummy, Mummy! Hugs!" Hermione winced at the greeting, but barely had time to stand before the adorable two-year old flung herself into her arms. She hugged the toddler close and nuzzled her face into the dark curls that reminded her of her own.

"Hey, Callie girl! What did you and Rosie do today?" Callista smiled brightly as she launched her tiny body onto the couch, jumping and giggling manically as she explained in her limited vocabulary all that had happened while she'd been at work.

"Saw big bears. Go rawr! An' giddaffes. Wick baby, ew. An' trampine go jump jump!" She sighed as she collapsed face down onto the couch.

"Young miss! Is you jumping on the couch again?" Rosie's voice drifted in from the other room, containing a tone of warning. Hermione smiled at the house elf's admonishment. When she had first arrived at the Shacklebolt Estate, she had been moderately shocked that Kingsley owned a house elf. She warmed up to Rosie, however, once she learned that Rosie had been with Kingley since they were both very young and she wouldn't leave even after she had been freed years before. She was also a marvelous cook, not to mention what a help she was with Callie.

"No mow jump, mummy!" Callie's muffled voice was broken by more tired giggling.

"You better be careful, Callie. You're going to get us into big trouble one of these days! We almost got caught." Hermione whispered conspiratorially, gesturing to the kitchen.

Callie sat up on the couch and smiled at Hermione, holding a finger over her lips, acknowledging their secret. Then she squealed as Hermione picked her up and spun her around several times before putting her down and continuing to spin, holding her head. "Whoa, you made me dizzy, Callie!"

Callie laughed hysterically from her place on the floor. "Again, again!" Hermione smirked. The little girl loved it when she was dramatic.

"Oh, no more, please! You can't make me!" She put on a look of mock horror. "Rosie, Callie's trying to make me dizzy!"

Rosie came into the room, looking comically like an elf version of Molly Weasley. Her large eyes narrowed and her hands clamped on her rail-thin, apron-clad waist. As she shook her head, her bat-like ears flopped about.

"Young miss! If you is misbehaving, Rosie must tell Master Kingsley. Master isn't wanting you to be a bad girl." Rosie winked at Hermione.

"Spin, Rosie, spin!" said Callie as she fell to the floor once more, yawning widely.

"Rosie doesn't think so, young miss. It's your bedtime. Say goodnight," said Rosie as she levitated the half-sleeping girl.

"Night night," said the toddler as she curled her arms tightly around Hermione's neck and planted a wet kiss on her cheek.

"Night night, Callie," Hermione whispered as Rosie magically carried the already sleeping Callie to her room.

Instead of returning to the oh-so-comfortable couch, Hermione moved to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. She buried her hands in her curls, closed her eyes, and took deep breaths as she recalled tomorrow's date. By the time Rosie returned to the room, a few tears had escaped her and a look of excruciating pain marred her otherwise pretty face.

"Oh, Mistress! Rosie is being sorry! Why does you cry?" exclaimed Rosie as she took in Hermione's shaking form.

"I've asked you not to call me that, Rosie," Hermione turned her watery gaze to the tiny elf and burst into a fit of sobs, which only increased in volume when Rosie crossed the room and wrapped her frail arms securely around her.

Hermione didn't know how long they stayed in that position, with Rosie smoothing Hermione's hair and whispering soothing words. But some time later, Kingsley came in and she heard whispering before she was transferred from two small house elf arms to a pair of well-muscled, masculine ones and she felt herself being lifted and then deposited on a familiar, cloud-like surface that she vaguely recognized as her bed.

She slowly lifted her left eyelid and took in a shaky breath before she thanked Kingsley under her breath, then surrendered to unconsciousness. Just as she drifted off, Kingsley closed her bedroom door and turned to the concerned house elf, shaking his head. Rosie looked up at her master with her huge, glassy eyes and said, "Is tomorrow being the bad day, Master?"

Kingsley nodded affirmation and, seeing his oldest friend about to burst into tears, tried to comfort her. "She just needs a couple of days, and she'll be fine."

Rosie shook her head sadly. "Master, Rosie hasn't seen Mistress be 'fine' for years." She watched as Kingsley's brows knit together before he heaved a great sigh and gave a slight nod of agreement.

Hermione woke the next morning to the smell of cinnamon, fruit, sausage, and coffee. For a moment, she wondered what could be the occasion for such a large breakfast. Normally, toast and jam was the breakfast of choice for the Shacklebolts. Then, she recalled the date as she tried to open her tear-crusted eyes.

She stumbled to her washroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. When she finally looked up at the mirror, she was horrified at her splotchy complexion and the frizzy nightmare that was her hair. What bothered her most, though, were her eyes. Her normally warm chestnut brown orbs were hollow and hopeless, underlined by dark circles.

Deciding that she was entirely too un-presentable to go to breakfast, she opted for a shower, letting the hot water wash away the evidence of her tears even as they streamed down her face. She calmed her breathing as she dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt and pulled her unruly curls into a messy bun. "Not much better," she snorted at her reflection before she left to join the others in the kitchen.

Breakfast was uneventful other than the fact that Rosie kept sending worried glances at Hermione as if she would begin crying at any second. Though she had fully intended to lounge about the house and mope for the better part of the day, she found herself changing into her black work robes and slipping on her trainers for comfort, not bothering to fix her hair and makeup. She hugged Callie goodbye and waved to Rosie before flooing to her office, hoping that the new cases Kingsley had told her about this morning really were as interesting as he made them out to be, as they might provide some distraction.

So, it came to be that at exactly ten till midnight on July 17th, Hermione was sitting as the sole customer at the bar in the Hog's Head. She put her head down and sobbed to her heart's content, occasionally muttering half-intelligible sentences that involved "Ron," "Australia" and "bloody memory charms." With Aberforth alongside her to fuel her emotional display with a near-constant supply of firewhiskey, she believed she was safe from all prying eyes that might wonder why Witch Weekly's Most Powerful Witch was currently getting sloshed and howling like a mad woman.

o~oOo~o

Draco Malfoy didn't have many friends after the war. Not that he had an outrageous number before; he knew he hadn't been the easiest bloke to get on with. But those friends he was lucky enough to retain, he fought like hell to keep. His best friend was Blaise Zabini, who was rather more like a brother than a friend.

Immediately after their respective war trials, Draco convinced Blaise to be his flatmate at a posh little place near the Ministry, where they had both worked at the time. Everything changed a month ago, when Blaise was offered the position of Defense professor at Hogwarts. Having a fairly gregarious personality, he was never really satisfied with the desk job he had acquired along with Draco, so he practically leapt for joy at the prospect of something different, which for Blaise meant that he spent all night celebrating at the Three Broomsticks, getting tipsy enough to grab Rosmerta and kiss her full on the mouth.

Draco would never admit it, but ever since Blaise had moved into his quarters at Hogwarts, he had been a bit lonesome. He very rarely went out in public anymore, an attempt to avoid the rabid reporters that literally pounced on him every chance they got to interview "The Assassin Who Got Off Easy." As a result, he spent most of the time in his flat which was now depressingly empty.

So, Draco decided to visit his old friend before he became too wrapped up in preparing lessons. He took a day off work, which was verging on necessary after the past week he had, rounding up the members of a new violent anti-Muggle group, the largest seen since the Death Eaters were disbanded. He left after lunch to spend the rest of the day with Blaise so they could catch each other up on how swamped they were at work.

After several hours of detailing their horrible weeks to each other (Blaise was having serious problems with Peeves) in between breaks of companionable silence where Draco read a Quidditch magazine and Blaise wrote up lessons for his third years, Draco got the niggling feeling that his friend was studying him.

"What?" Draco looked up at his friend exasperatedly.

Blaise leaned back in his armchair, cupping his chin with his hand and cocking his head slightly to dramatize his curious look before narrowing his eyes and humming thoughtfully. Draco rolled his eyes at the ridiculous pose.

"What have you actually been doing since I've been away?" Blaise asked bluntly, his deep voice resonating.

Draco's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I thought we just went over that, in exhaustive detail I might add. Or have you gone and developed that Muggle disease…what do they call it? Old timers?"

Blaise scoffed. "That would be Alzheimer's, Draco. And no, you know full well that I was not referring to work."

Sighing, he said, "Not much. You know me."

"Yes, I do know you. Probably better than anyone. Which is how I know that you need to cut the bullshit and get out of the flat once in a while."

"But—"

"I know you don't like the attention, but honestly this isolation is not good for you. You're turning into a bloody hermit! Really, would it kill you to maybe go to the Leaky with the lads from work or maybe actually attend one of the Quidditch games you obsess over?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"You're just being melodramatic!"

"Am not! I work with that human explosive, Finnigan and that swot Smithson. The only reason they're in intelligence is they were too accident-prone to complete the physical training tests to become Aurors. I don't want to take my chances going in an alcohol-filled place with those two!"

"While you may have a point there," smirked Blaise, "I see no reason not to make an effort to get on better with the people you're forced to be around all the time. I mean, look who I have as colleagues. Longbottom and Trelawney alone are enough to make a man go bonkers! And for the love of Merlin, you need to find yourself a girl!"

Draco's eyes widened. "We've talked about this! I—"

"I know, you think there's no point. 'Any girl who would be interested in someone like me would only want my money or fame!' Pathetic excuses! Not all girls are Pansy. Honestly, mate, it's not like you have a lot of experience in this area." Blaise put his hands up in surrender as Draco sneered at him. "All I'm saying is that the right girl could mean more to you than a dozen friends, and a little action might do wonders for those nasty mood swings of yours."

Blaise turned back to his lesson plans, effectively ending the conversation and leaving Draco to mull over his words. He hoped he would take them to heart because he hated to see his best mate so lonely and depressed all the time.

Draco, however, was plotting exactly fifteen different ways to make a quick escape from the suddenly very confining room. No matter how many times the issue of his social life had come up, Blaise still hadn't caught on that Draco just didn't care. The generally horrible opinion of him, his newly acquired introverted demeanor, and one particularly gruesome Quidditch match had thoroughly convinced him that he was better off keeping to himself anyway.

In the end, Draco went with plot number eight to vacate the Hogwarts grounds. "Well, since you're so keen on my getting out of the flat, might as well pop over to Mum's to set those dinner plans she's been talking about forever."

"Excellent!" Blaise's eyes brightened. "Be sure to tell Cissa that the week in Venice is still an open invitation, any time she's willing to reconsider."

"Ponce!" said Draco as he whacked his friend's head with the magazine he was still holding.

"You get more like your godfather all the time, mate. Merlin!" Blaise laughed, rubbing his head.

Draco scowled as he left the castle, robes billowing behind him. If any seventh year students had been in the castle, they would have been reminded of a certain potion's master as Draco stalked through the halls.

Finally, Draco reached Hogsmeade and slowed down to enjoy the fresh air before apparating home. It wasn't often that he was free to do so without large crowds of people gawking at him. He may not have minded the staring so much, but he really couldn't stand the staged whispers of what an evil coward he was and how he and his family deserved to rot in Azkaban.

He thought about stopping by Honeydukes for a pack of sugar quills and maybe some cauldron cakes, but as he checked his watch, he realized that most of the shops would be closed by now. Probably the only place still open would be the Hog's Head. Just as well, though. He might as well pick up a bottle of Ogden's Finest while he was in the area. Merlin knows he'd need it if he was going to visit his mother, if only because his father would be there as well.

As he approached the Hog's Head, he thought he saw movement inside from two different places. "Well, who would be in there at this time? Whoever it is must be completely mental!" He peered in the window to make sure that old Ab didn't have any of his Gryffindor pals hanging about the place.

As soon as he saw the familiar bushy head, he had every intention of turning straight around and apparating on the spot. But Aberforth's proximity to the girl caught his eye. Ab was a solitary man who usually shied away from contact with other people, but to Draco's surprise, he was patting Granger's back as he passed her another full glass of firewhiskey. It appeared that he was talking to her as well. Even for one of his war buddies, this was so unlike Ab.

It was then that Draco noticed Granger's shaking body and the half dozen empty glasses on the bar beside her. _Great, she's a lush now too. Probably shouldn't be surprised after all I've heard-_. Draco stopped himself right there. That line of thinking was supremely unfair of him. He had been victimized enough to know better than to put stock in the rumour mill these days. Besides, from what he'd seen of her, not just recently, but even as far back as his own war trial, she hadn't seemed any different from her old, bookish self. That particular issue of the Daily Prophet was probably no more than a full seven pages of malicious, baseless slander, especially considering its author. Everyone knew that Rita Skeeter had it out for Granger.

Still, even if he were to disregard the rumours, the question still remained: "Why is Harry Potter's best friend, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, drinking herself into a stupor and crying her eyes out alone in a dirty old pub?"

After very seriously considering walking away with his newly acquired, valuable knowledge and never looking back, Draco decided that his alcohol needs outweighed the risks of having a drunken war hero verbally assault him. No more than a minute later, the young Malfoy had burst through the door of the Hog's Head and sauntered toward the bar, looking for all the world like he owned the place.

o~oOo~o

Hermione, in her muddled state, was beyond the ability to do much more than sob into her crossed, sweater-clad arms that rested on the bar. Her ears, however, seemed to be unaffected by her liberal alcohol consumption. As a result, she very clearly heard everything that was being said, though her mind was a little too slow to process the information at that point. She continued crying in her current position as she listened to the two men.

"Ab, good to see you again!" the enthusiastic voice was vaguely familiar, and there was an underlying tone that she couldn't quite place yet. "I've just stopped by to pick up a bottle of Ogden's, but seeing as it's still early, I might stay and have a pint as well."

_Arrogance! _ Hermione finally recognized the tone that colored the smooth, masculine voice. _Arrogant…Pompous…..GIT, that's it! MALFOY!_

Hermione's thoughts coincided with Aberforth's greeting of "Very well, Malfoy."

Hermione had been so distracted that she didn't realize she had stopped crying. On hearing her childhood nemesis's name, she lifted her head just enough to observe her neighbor. She was alarmed when all she could see was a dark blur, but when she moved her arm, the room became a bit clearer. She snorted at herself, rather loudly it would seem as both men turned to look at her curiously.

As Malfoy turned to face her, Hermione took in his appearance, just as pale and aristocratic as she remembered. Her last memory of him came to mind, when she presided over his war trial. When she looked at his face, she had been immediately convinced of his innocence. She hadn't seen that teenage bully who had terrorized her through school, but the same horrified boy who had cried uncontrollably as his deranged aunt tortured her. Probably none of the others had noticed, being caught up with their prisoners, but she had. As the memory of his terrified, tear-streaked face filled her mind, Hermione sighed and whispered, "Poor Malfoy!"

Then, the world around her turned black as unconsciousness overtook her.

o~oOo~o

Draco flashed a confused glance at Ab before turning back to stare at the snoring witch. _What the bloody hell does she mean, 'Poor Malfoy?' _Draco may not have liked all the negative media and hate owls he had received; point in fact, he despised it; but if there was one thing he hated more than this, that he would not stand for, it was pity. Nobody pities a Malfoy, especially not some drunken Ministry tart, no matter what her position with the Minister happened to be.

"Granger!" he hissed. The sleeping witch didn't move a muscle. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Ab concealing a small vial of what he could only guess would be some sort of sleeping potion. From the looks of the woman in front of him, he'd say Dreamless Sleep Draught. He narrowed his eyes at the barkeep. _Sneaky bastard. What exactly did he think this would accomplish, other than landing him with a drunken, unconscious, high-profile witch to take care of?_

"She's not actually had that much tonight," Aberforth offered in response to Draco's scrutinizing glare, which only increased at this. "Less than half a bottle, really. But I've no doubt she'd have continued all night if I let her, and I'm not exactly in a position to refuse her."

Draco arched a sculpted blond eyebrow as he contemplated this new information. Before he'd fully processed it, he found himself saying, "She comes here often, then?" He immediately wanted to take his words back when the old barkeep turned his back on him and began wiping glasses. _Sweet Circe! What in Salazar's name is wrong with me? That's the most I've ever heard the old man speak, and I had to go and ruin it. _

Aberforth sighed as he turned back to face the boy. He really wasn't up to leaving again tonight, so he supposed it wouldn't do any harm to at least ask. "Best be getting her home then, eh?"

"Beg pardon?" Draco was flummoxed. _The old coot must be daft! As if I have nothing better to do! _But who was he kidding? In reality, he really didn't have anything else to do. When it appeared that Ab wasn't going to repeat himself, Draco rolled his eyes and grudgingly offered his humble services, "Where would 'home' be?"

Ab raised a bushy grey brow, clearly questioning the boy's intelligence, or at the very least his social awareness. After all, most of the poor witch's life had been made painfully public. "Shacklebolt Estate, of course."

Draco's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. _So the rumours were true? _Normally it wouldn't interest him, but he had been fairly sure that this was too outrageous a scandal for Granger to be involved in. _I suppose if I leave her here, I would risk the wrath of the Minister. Then again, if I bring her home in this state, I can't foresee anything good coming out of that situation. Perhaps it would be best to call in back-up. _ He slammed a few galleons on the bar, shrinking his Ogden's to put in his pocket before hefting the unconscious witch in his arms and nodding to Ab.

Once Draco was outside the pub, he stood Granger up; supporting her with his left side, his arm around her waist as he used his right arm to cast a patronus, hoping his message would be received quickly. Shortly after, a hacked off Blaise Zabini appeared in front of him with a "pop."

"Morgana's lacy lingerie! When I said you needed to get out, I didn't mean tonight. I've got duties in the morning, I don't have time to apparate you home just because you-." For the first time, Blaise noticed the sleeping Hermione Granger in the arms of his best friend. His teasing expression immediately turned to shock, almost betraying a bit of fear.

"Please tell me that's not who I think it is, mate," Blaise gulped.

"Hermione Granger, in the flesh," announced Draco, "the bloody heavy flesh!"

Blaise rolled his eyes and cast a silent featherweight charm on the witch.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Draco whined.

"Mate, I don't think you understand what you've gotten yourself into here," Blaise insisted, clearly flustered at this point. "I mean, do you even read the papers?" His frantic, normally low voice shot up an octave as his long, dark fingers fisted his short hair.

"Relax, drama queen!" Draco snorted. "She's just had a bit too much to drink, so Ab needed someone to escort her home. You're coming with me to corroborate my story."

Blaise closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths. "Of all the girls to pick up, you had to find her?"

"Are you coming or not?" Draco's patience was virtually non-existent this late in the evening.

"I'm going to be murdered by the Minister of Magic, but no worries. Happens all the time." Blaise's sarcastic mumbling rang out through Hogsmeade as he trudged across the street to grab Draco's arm, bracing himself for the pull of side-along apparition.


	2. Curiosity, the Cat, and All That

A/N: Callie and Rosie are my babies. Everything else is the lovely Jo Rowling's.

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Chapter 2: Curiosity, the Cat, and All That

Kingsley wasn't worried yet, but to say that he was concerned wouldn't be far from accurate. He'd long since put Callie to bed and was now slumped heavily in his favourite armchair in the drawing room. He glanced forlornly between the grandfather clock opposite him and the dark leather couch to his left. "Hermione's couch" it had been dubbed almost as soon as she'd settled in to the mansion house. He suddenly leaned forward, placing his bald head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His smooth face belied the years of stress and war that he'd been through, but his dark eyes were old, wise, and careworn. _That woman will be the death of me! _

His eyes closed and his brows knit together as he recalled Rosie's words from the night before. "Master, Rosie hasn't seen Mistress be 'fine' for years." He regrettably had to admit that it was the truth. The last time he had seen her genuinely, truly happy, she was about fifteen at a Christmas dinner with the Order. She was absolutely radiant, surrounded by her friends. Even her muggle parents had visited Headquarters for the day. He remembered like it was yesterday, her wild curls tied in a bun and her lilac Weasley-knit Christmas sweater pushed up to her elbows as she helped her mother and Molly with the dishes, laughing as they worked. They may not have been perfect but they were a family, a family that war and its aftermath had brutally torn from her. Kingsley shed a rare tear for the extraordinary witch and all she had lost.

Just then, a "ding" alerted him that someone had passed through the Estate wards. _Finally! _He walked to the front door to let Hermione in, fully aware that she would probably be in a state of inebriation. What he found on opening the massive oak doors, however, was not quite what he expected.

o~oOo~o

Draco was already nervous, and he was beginning to think that bringing Blaise along was one of his less than brilliant ideas. The tosser wouldn't quit fidgeting, muttering ominous predictions of their impending murder. "Honestly, mate, you think Trelawney's bad…" Draco eyed his friend, shifting the sleeping witch in his arms. Blaise's featherweight charm was wearing off and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep hold of her.

Both men stopped short as their eyes absorbed Shacklebolt Estate and its enormous front doors. Blaise gulped, "Blimey, it's bigger than our parents' places put together!"

Suddenly, the right hand door creaked open, spilling warm candlelight onto the walking path. In the doorway stood a massive imposing figure. Blaise cowered behind Draco. Draco would have smirked at his friend had he not also felt some mild terror at the sight of the Minister in his home. After a few awkward moments, Draco decided he would have to be the first to speak since he was currently holding the reason for their visit.

"Evening, Minister," he began in his smooth drawl. "We were passing by the Hog's Head not long ago and Mr. Dumbledore asked a favor of us. It seems one of his customers needed to be cut off and sent home. Consequently, we are here to return your… er… Ms. Granger." He took a step forward, proffering the lump in his arms to the intimidating wizard.

The Minister easily took the witch in his ridiculously muscled arms and nodded at Draco. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini. Would you care to come inside for tea? Brandy, perhaps?"

Draco glanced at his nervous friend apologetically before answering the wizard in front of him, "Yes, thank you sir, we appreciate it." He honestly didn't think they would appreciate it, but he didn't think it would be wise to refuse the Minister at this point.

Blaise shoved him as they followed the Minister inside Shacklebolt Estate. Draco rolled his eyes at his friend's childish behavior. He kept pace with Shacklebolt who, now that he was in the light, appeared to be wearing a bath robe, pajama bottoms, and slippers. _How muggle!_

"Wait here," the Minister's deep voice echoed through the hall as he gestured to the room on his left before carrying Granger toward a magnificent staircase. Draco and Blaise entered the room cautiously. A drawing room, Draco decided. The room housed two armchairs, an assortment of children's toys in one corner, a grandfather clock on the North wall, and an intricately carved ivory fireplace on the South wall, with a dark leather couch in the center of the room. The two men sat on the couch, which was decidedly more comfortable than any other couch they had ever sat on.

Draco admired the dark green of the walls, accented by ivory and mahogany pieces throughout the room. Blaise turned his gaze to the significantly more frightening chandelier that hung above their heads. It must have weighed half a ton! Though any other person might have admired the exquisite craftsmanship or the way it seemed to suit the room perfectly, Blaise was more concerned about having that amount of sharp crystal shards that could easily be converted to weapons literally hanging above his head. He shuddered and directed his eyes back to the door to watch for the Minister, his hand clamped tightly around his wand through his teaching robes.

A sudden "pop" made both men jump as a small house elf with a maid's outfit appeared. Draco and Blaise chuckled nervously at their scare while the elf cleared her throat to get their attention.

"Master Kingsley is sending Rosie to bring your drinks while he puts Mistress to bed. What is you wanting?" Draco's eyebrows shot up when he heard the elf call Granger "Mistress." From what he recalled of their Hogwarts years, the woman would never consent to being the mistress of a house elf. Not to mention the implication that came from the house elf thinking of her as the lady of the house.

Draco was brought back to himself when Blaise answered quietly, "Double brandy on the rocks, please."

"I'll just have tea, black," Draco said distractedly.

Rosie returned quickly with their drinks and a tray of biscuits. Blaise eagerly took his brandy and gulped it down while Draco took a sip of his tea, trying to reconcile this new information with what he already knew about Hermione Granger. He thought back three years ago to his war trial:

"_Will the accused please stand?" the amplified voice of Madame Bones rang like a death bell in the trial room. The entire Wizengamot and an excessive number of media and spectators had gathered for the war trials of the notorious Malfoys. Hermione Granger, from her seat as temporary Chief Warlock, watched the trial unfold with an emotionless face, listening patiently to all evidence and testimonies and keeping a stern watch over the audience to make sure order was maintained in the room. _

_Once the five-hour long trial reached its close Granger stood for the first time, her eyes scanning the room before she spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," Draco noticed that she didn't use a sonorous charm. The room was so quiet, she didn't need it though. That tended to happen when the Chief Warlock spoke. Most people respected her too much despite her tender age. Those who didn't feared her, especially after the Final Battle. "All who find the accused guilty?" Around half of the Wizengamot raised their hands as Madame Bones took note of the vote. "All in favor of clearing the accused of all or selected charges?" Again, close to half of the Wizengamot raised their hands. Madame Bones worked calmly and all eyes were on her until she looked up to the Chief Warlock._

"_Madame Bones, how does the vote stand?" Granger asked. _

"_We, the ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot would clear the accused of charges," Madame Bones answered confidently._

_There were shocked gasps and murmurs throughout the crowd._

_Granger raised a hand and immediately the room silenced. She addressed the Wizengamot, "In the case of Draco Lucius Malfoy, will you clear the accused of all charges?" _

"_Aye," was the resounding vote of the Wizengamot, with a few nays interspersed. _

"_Madame Bones, let the record show that Draco Lucius Malfoy has been cleared of all charges," Granger's clear voice said. As the words sank in, Draco stared at the woman he had tormented through their Hogwarts years, then stood by and watched his aunt torture. The overwhelming gratitude and shock he felt must have been evident in his expression because Granger did something he never would have expected her to do. She smiled at him and nodded once before returning to the case of his parents._

Draco still found himself in awe of the outcome of his and his family's trials. They were only free now thanks, in large part, to Hermione Granger. A lesser person would have allowed prejudiced witnesses and less substantial evidence to stand in order to satisfy a personal vendetta, but Granger's unwavering sense of justice had saved them perhaps from a fate worse than death.

At that moment, Shacklebolt entered the drawing room, looking rather exhausted. "No, please sit," he said as Draco and Blaise rose to their feet to greet their host, ever the gentlemen. The Minister crossed the room, took his place in an armchair, and looked contemplatively at the men on the couch for a few minutes. They were both obviously uncomfortable.

Shacklebolt took a deep breath before speaking to his guests. "Gentlemen, what would it take to make you forget this ever happened?" His face remained stern and stoic and his hands clasped in front of him almost threateningly.

o~oOo~o

Kingsley looked between the faces of the two wizards on Hermione's couch. Physically, they appeared to be polar opposites. One pale and the other dark as pitch; one with a suspicious scowl and the other nervously shifting his gaze around the room. Zabini was clutching his wand through his robes as if his life depended on it. Knowing the new Hogwarts professor, he was probably dragged into this situation unwillingly. Unfortunately, he was here now and he had witnessed Hermione in a compromising position. He simply couldn't let the young man leave without securing the protection of his family. Whether that meant bribery, threats, or obliviation, he was prepared to do whatever it took to accomplish it.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was far more likely to take what he knew to the Prophet just to spite his old school nemesis. Not that the action would be at all deserved. Hermione did everything she could to ensure his family got a fair war trial. She'd even publically supported the Malfoys by shaking his hand and hugging Narcissa after the trial, which caused a big stir in the media. Of course, that was before "the scandal." Still, it was just after _that day_ and it was almost unbelievable that she was able to put on such a show, much less willing to do so.

Perhaps that wasn't being entirely fair to the Malfoy heir. He had been getting nothing but good reports from his supervisors at the Ministry. Also, there was the matter of the large amount of galleons he'd anonymously contributed to the many charities that had sprung up after the war. Kingsley had thought at the time that it was just an attempt to rid himself of any connection to Bellatrix Lestrange, as most of the money had come directly from her vault at Gringott's. Eventually, though, Hermione had convinced him that since his donation was, in fact, anonymous, and in light of his previously selfish nature, he may have had more altruistic reasons for what he'd done.

Either way, Kingsley believed that this situation might be simply too tempting for the ex-Slytherins. He was a very forgiving wizard in most circumstances, but when he thought of the possible ramifications a leak of this information could have for his family, he would rather take preventative measures than risk his own wrath later on. Even he wasn't sure of what he could be capable if his worst fears came to fruition. Merlin help the soul that uncovered his secrets, whether by accident or with malicious intent.

As Kingsley's thoughts turned darker, his expression must have reflected the turmoil within because Zabini sank further into the couch and began visibly shaking. Malfoy's brow furrowed and his jaw tightened. He shifted his feet to position for a fight. Kingsley hadn't been an Auror for more than a decade without learning to pick up the signs of a wizard who intended to duel. His fingers unconsciously inched toward his own wand, but Malfoy did something that surprised him. He sighed and leaned back into the couch, relaxing and crossing his arms over his chest.

o~oOo~o

Draco thought carefully before giving the answer that would double as both his and Blaise's. He thought briefly of obliviating the Minister and sneaking out before he realized what was going on. The idea was quickly discarded, however. Draco vividly recalled seeing Shacklebolt in action and standing in awe of the powerful and deadly accurate wizard. He may possess speed and cunning but he was no match for the man before him, who benefited from years of Auror training and experience. He'd be out cold before he could perform a swish-and-flick.

He also considered arguing with Shacklebolt, distracting him long enough to call the Aurors. After all, he and Blaise had done nothing wrong, and the Minister had indirectly threatened them. The man was usurping his power, and he should probably be reported. Draco almost scoffed at himself at this suggestion though. He wasn't a bloody Hufflepuff! He and Blaise could handle this themselves, without interference from the Aurors, most of whom were morons anyway. Even if Blaise currently appeared to be pissing himself with fear, he could hold his own in a fight if it came down to it.

Draco's musings came to a halt momentarily when he observed the change in the Minister's eyes. They had gradually transformed from exhausted and almost pleading to hard and determined. It was a look that he'd seen one other time, on Lucius before Granger's "interrogation" at the Manor. Torturing teenage witches wasn't something Lucius was ever fond of. Whatever his faults, let it be known that the elder Malfoy has never approved of using physical violence with females. Though he obviously would rather have interrogated either of the boys, he reluctantly allowed Bellatrix to torture the girl, though he had to steel himself before watching. It was then that Draco realized that Shacklebolt was not only willing to use force with them, but readying himself to do it.

Sighing and relaxing into the couch, Draco prepared to discuss the one option that would allow him and Blaise to leave the Shacklebolt Estate unscathed. He pursed his lips, keeping his gaze locked with the Minister's before clearing his throat and speaking.

"I believe we have a solution, Minister Shacklebolt, if you are amenable." He smiled slyly, clapping the violently shaking Blaise on the shoulder to present a united front.

"What would you suggest, Mr. Malfoy?" the Minister looked intrigued.

"Blaise and I are willing to make the Unbreakable Vow that we will not disclose any of tonight's events. After all, neither of us would ever dream of doing anything that could harm the Chief Warlock. Ms. Granger has been nothing but polite and supportive of us since the war and we would never betray the kindness she's shown us." Draco was surprised to find that his words were sincere as was his smile as he spoke. He must have been more grateful to the witch than he realized.

He glanced at his friend to find him slowly nodding his head in agreement, his face now expressionless as he perceived the Minister's change in demeanor. Shacklebolt looked relieved but still wary, definitely an improvement from the battle-ready stance of a moment ago.

"And what would you ask of me in return?" he queried, steepling his fingers.

"Only that our memories will not be tampered with," Draco answered confidently.

"Very well," said Shacklebolt as he stood from his chair, taking a slow step toward the couch. "Mr. Malfoy?" He extended his right arm toward Draco.

Draco clasped the Minister's forearm with his right hand and nodded to Blaise who was now standing. Blaise withdrew his wand and lightly tapped the intertwined arms. "Draco Malfoy," he addressed him. "Will you promise never to mention having contact with Ms. Granger from 11:30 last evening until now?"

"I will."

"And will you keep Ms. Granger's activities from the same time, as far as you are aware of them, to yourself?"

"I will."

"And will you, if confronted, deny having been at Minister Shacklebolt's residence in the last hour?"

"I will," Draco answered, letting go of the Minister's arm as the Vow was completed. Shacklebolt gave a nod of approval as he turned to Blaise. Draco repeated the same Vow Blaise had given and stood uncomfortably waiting for the Minister to dismiss them.

"Thank you," breathed the Minister, the exhaustion returning to him full-force. He looked both Draco and Blaise in the eyes, his overwhelming gratitude evident in his relieved smile. "I assure you that your assistance this night will not be forgotten."

Draco dipped his head in acknowledgement, knowing that he had made the right decision. It seemed now that the Minister of Magic was indebted to them. Not that he could foresee himself capitalizing on that, but it was nice to know all the same.

Shacklebolt snapped his fingers and the house elf from before appeared. "Rosie will show you out. Good evening, gentlemen." Then, he walked out without looking back.

o~oOo~o

Once they had apparated safely away from Shacklebolt Estate, Blaise rounded on his best mate. "You ruddy bastard!" he bellowed as he landed a powerful right hook straight across his jaw. The blow was so forceful that Draco was knocked on his arse. The dark wizard, breathing heavily from the rush of adrenaline, towered over Draco and sneered down at him.

"I probably deserved that," Draco mumbled as he tenderly touched his rapidly swelling jaw. He winced as his fingers prodded the impact point. It was probably broken. _Good,_ Blaise thought.

"Damn right you did!" shouted Blaise. "An Unbreakable Vow? What in Salazar's name were you thinking?! Oh, don't tell me! 'It's better than being obliviated.' Is it really, Draco? At least if I'd been obliviated, I wouldn't have to worry about _dying _if I ever slip up! What's more, I won't be able to go to the Ministry ever again without trying to avoid those two. You know, being your mate is exhausting! Sometimes, I wish I'd taken a page from Parkinson's book and just given up on you altogether!" he spat the last sentence out, on the verge of tears as his adrenaline wore out.

Seeing the look of hurt on Draco's face, Blaise's anger instantly melted away. "I'm sorry, mate. I just—that was out of line. Let's just go get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll be fine. We should be fine." He was trying to convince himself more than Draco, but he patted his friend on the back before apparating closer to the castle so he could walk up to his quarters. The sooner he could collapse into bed, the better.


	3. Who's the Cat, Who's the Mouse?

A/N: Callie and Rosie are my babies. Everything else is the lovely Jo Rowling's.

* * *

Chapter 3: Who's the Cat, Who's the Mouse?

Three Weeks Later…

Hermione flicked her wand to move a stack of completed paperwork to the second in a row of mahogany filing cabinets on the west wall of her enormous office before setting them to magically filing themselves. Truthfully, she didn't know why she was still in this office. It was gorgeous, of course—filled with more rich, ornate furniture than she could ever need and the north wall was almost entirely bewitched windows, always showing her a beautiful, relaxing scene. It really was too much, and she requested a smaller office almost the second she stepped foot in it. Two and a half years later, where was she? So much for keeping the "Last Word in Magical Justice" happy! She couldn't wait to move out of here. There was nothing about the office that made her feel remotely comfortable. Except the chair. She would definitely be keeping the chair. She snuggled further in to the designer chair that competed for "World's Most Comfortable Piece of Furniture" with her couch in the Shacklebolt drawing room.

Having begun to relax after a full fifteen hours of straight paperwork, broken only by a dinner break taken in her office, she rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to alleviate her normal end-of-the-day headache. She sighed before calling out toward the door, "Penelope!"

When there was no answer, Hermione furrowed her brow in concern and was about to open the door to her office and check on her secretary when she noticed the clock above the door which now read half past eight. She rolled her eyes at herself as she recalled that she had sent Penelope Weasley home four hours ago. Hermione yawned and rubbed her eyes. _I've become an old maid at 21! Look at me, ready for bed before nine in the evening. Shameful!_

Standing on shaking legs, she grabbed her robe from the rack behind her, draping it across her arm. Mechanically tossing a pinch of floo powder into her fireplace, she called out her destination and stumbled into the receiving room at Shacklebolt Estate.

"Rough day, Miss Hermione?" Rosie greeted her. "You is home later than you usually is."

"Not too bad, Rosie. Just more paperwork than I would've liked," Hermione smiled at the little elf, who nodded her understanding.

"You be wanting tea tonight, Miss Hermione?" Rosie asked, already headed to the kitchen.

"Yes, please, Rosie," Hermione breathed gratefully as she slumped into a kitchen chair. "Is Kingsley home yet?"

When Rosie shook her head in a negative reaction, Hermione tutted, "Thought he might be a bit late tonight. The Longbottom case is causing a bit of trouble."

_Poor Neville! _At the Ministry, she forced herself to think of it as just another case, detached from her personal life. But now, she allowed her emotions to take over. The case must be very difficult for her old friend right now. His grandmum recently passed and there was a fuss regarding her will. She, of course, intended to leave everything to Neville. However, Gringotts didn't recognize "informal" wizard wills. Instead, the goblins insisted that the Longbottom account should be transferred to the eldest living son or daughter of the deceased, which happened to be Frank Longbottom, who still resided in St. Mungo's with his wife. Goblins, however, are far from being considered sympathetic creatures.

According to ancient tradition, if the vault is not accessed by its new owner one week after the death of its previous owner, the contents are forfeited to the bank. The Care of Magical Creatures Department was having a dreadful time dealing with the issue because the Goblin's liaison hadn't the foggiest what to do in the situation, the poor girl. As a result, the Ministry had to consult an expert, Bill Weasley, and the whole affair had turned into a fiasco.

She wished she could be there for her friend at this trying time, but at least he had Hannah, who she'd heard he was actually engaged to now. _I should send them a card, but I suppose it had better be anonymous._ She sighed and took a long sip of the tea Rosie handed her; she couldn't even send a blasted congratulatory card to her oldest Hogwarts friend because of "The Scandal!" Sometimes, she wanted nothing more than to flog Rita Skeeter to within an inch of her life. She supposed the look on the roach's face if she ever found out the truth would be enough, but with the way things stood, she doubted that would ever happen.

Kingsley was too optimistic in this situation. Two years, three months, and twelve days. As far as she was concerned, the chances of improvement were slim to none, not that she would ever dare voice that opinion in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He might just throttle her; it was an extremely sensitive topic.

Hermione's eyes had unconsciously wandered to the second door on the left on the second floor of the mansion house, which could barely be seen from the grand staircase. She shook her head to rid herself of the morbid thoughts and turned back to Rosie.

"I think I'll retire now, Rosie," she yawned, already standing to leave.

"Good night, Mistr—Miss Hermione," the elf answered.

Hermione made her way up the staircase and turned left, placing a hand gently on the second door and whispering "night, love" before making her way to her bedroom. Once she was in the guest bedroom on the third floor that she had claimed, she looked around nervously, suddenly alert. She'd had an awful feeling that made her check over her shoulder every few minutes. It had started….well, it had all started after _that day._ She was so sure that someone or something was watching her. She tried to shake the paranoia, but it was simply too strong. And a couple of times, she thought she actually caught a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of her eye.

This was too much, though. In her own home? The one place where she was supposed to feel secure? She resolved to find the source of her uneasiness and take care of it. She refused to live like this! She was a strong, powerful witch and she would not be intimidated by noises and shadowy figures. Beginning tomorrow, she would set up a traveling ward with a 100-ft radius around her and connect it to a record in her office that would show any time anyone, human or creature, crossed the perimeter. If there were any unusually frequent presences, she would investigate further. It was a complicated piece of magic, but she was, after all, "The Brightest Witch of Her Age." _Merlin and Morgana! _She thought. _I could write a book with all the titles I've been given!_

She slipped her nightie on and cocooned herself in her bed, falling asleep quickly and feeling considerably safer as she solidified her plans for creating the ward tomorrow.

o~oOo~o

Draco almost nodded off in the time it took Eurydice to return. Finally, he heard a tap on his kitchen window and rushed to open it, nearly tripping over his own slipper-clad feet in the process. He threw the window open, offering his right arm as a perch for the beautiful eagle owl. She hopped onto his arm, hooting happily and nipping at his shoulder affectionately.

He huffed at himself in annoyance. What kind of person would use such a noble, loyal creature for such a dark purpose? At least he could rest assured that his intentions were good. He withdrew his wand and tapped Eurydice's head, muttering the spell he had found last week. Immediately, his vision blurred significantly and swirled to a dark stretch of lawn that he recognized to be Shacklebolt Estate. He smiled when he was able to vaguely make out a blob with bushy hair through what must have been the kitchen window. Suddenly, his hearing tuned in to the scene. Thank Merlin owls have better hearing than eyesight!

"_You be wanting tea tonight, Miss Hermione?"_ That would be the old house elf. He snorted. Of course he was right. Granger would never willingly let a house elf call her mistress.

"_Yes, please, Rosie. Is Kingsley home yet?" _Always polite, that Granger. Draco guessed that it came naturally with being the lady of such a large estate, though. The elf looked like she might have been shaking her head. So the Minister's out late? In the back of his mind, Draco wondered what he could be doing.

"_Thought he might be a bit late tonight. The Longbottom case is causing a bit of trouble." _Longbot-? Oh, yes. Draco had heard about that case. A buggering mess, that was! It's no wonder they were still working on that. He'd never had much use for goblins!

"_I think I'll retire now, Rosie," _Granger stood up and started making her way out of the kitchen. Draco belatedly willed Eurydice to move to a better vantage point. This was the most important part of the evening. If they missed her going to bed again, he'd have to find a way to do the job himself.

"_Good night, Mistr—Miss Hermione." _Thankfully, Eurydice did move. Moments later, Draco was looking in a different window, the one at the end of the second floor hall, if he remembered correctly. Granger entered at the top of the staircase and turned left, stopping at a door and whispering, "_Night, love." _What in Salazar's name!

From their previous attempts at espionage, Eurydice and Draco had discovered that to get to Shacklebolt's room, one would turn right after the master staircase. Also, a child, who he assumed was the child in question, had the room just across from the Minister's. Granger and Shacklebolt must be keeping a monumental secret if there was someone in the mansion house who no one knew about!

Draco continued watching as Granger turned onto another staircase, seeming to go up another flight to the third floor. Again, Eurydice moved to follow her.

In this window, he saw a moderately-sized, generic-looking guest bedroom that must be Granger's. She whipped her bushy head this way and that. So, she was being paranoid again? Draco crossed his fingers that Eurydice hadn't been seen. Thank Merlin Granger didn't appear to have seen her. She changed and slipped into bed. Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks as he noticed her undressing, even though he couldn't see anything more than a flesh-coloured blur. All he wanted was to know the truth; he'd never intended to invade her privacy. For a second, though, he found himself wishing that Eurydice had better eyesight. _Hold it right there! _Draco thought. _I'm going to pretend that thought didn't just cross my mind, for the sake of my sanity._

He ran a pale, long-fingered hand down his face before releasing the charm on his owl, giving her a treat, and closing the window behind her. Something about the Prophet's story and what he had observed just didn't add up, and he intended to find out just what or whom the residents of Shacklebolt Estate were hiding.

o~oOo~o

The next morning, Hermione woke refreshed and ready to carry out her plans from the night before. Coincidentally, it was Saturday, so she didn't have to work. She showered and made herself presentable. She was in such a good mood that she picked a deep blue sundress out of her wardrobe, pairing it with a gold-coloured cardigan and Grecian sandals. She braided her hair and smiled at her reflection. For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself again. Before leaving her bedroom, she carefully created the traveling ward. Quickly shoving her wand into her trusty beaded bag, she danced down the stairs to Callista's room, knocking lightly to see if she was awake.

Hermione stifled a chuckle as she heard a thud and the patter of feet. She hid behind the door as Callie opened it. "Daddy?" the girl called, no trace of sleep in her voice.

"Boo!" Hermione exclaimed as she jumped out from behind the door.

"Mummy!" Callie's face brightened as she launched herself at Hermione, wrapping her arms securely around her neck and her legs tightly around her waist. Hermione pretended to choke from the child's vice-like grip. Callie's contagious giggle echoed in the hall as she loosened her grip on the poor witch.

"Are you ready to go on our trip, Callie?" Hermione asked excitedly, moving the squirming Callie to her hip.

"We go see Teddy?" Callie's eyes widened and her mouth hung open ready to smile or pout, whichever reaction the answer would call for.

"Perhaps," Hermione conceded, "if you behave and we get our errands done early."

The little girl squeezed Hermione's neck again, smacking a loud kiss on her cheek. "Callie be good, I pwomiss." She smiled her most innocent smile, and if Hermione hadn't known the toddler better, she might have believed her. She returned the smile, though, willing to give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

"Of course you will, darling." Hermione carried Callie back into her room and set her on her small rocking chair beside the wardrobe. She held up two different dresses, one blue and the other pink for her to choose from. The look on her face as she seriously contemplated her outfit was comical.

"Hmmm…" she started. "I theeeeenk… bwue! Wanna match mummy."

Hermione nodded and replaced the pink dress in the wardrobe, motioning for Callie to stand up so she could dress her. "Now, Callie, we've talked about this. What are you supposed to call me?"

"Um, I fowget," she answered sheepishly.

"Auntie Mione," Hermione said slowly, enunciating so Callie could repeat her.

"Aunniemynee?" Callie tried. Hermione nodded; it was close enough. The girl nodded, mumbling the name to herself over and over so she would remember it.

In the meantime, Hermione had managed to slip the dress on her and wrestle her squirming feet into a pair of beige sandals. "How do you want your hair today, darling?" She asked, comb in hand.

"Piggy taiws pwease, Aunnimynee," she exclaimed giddily. Less than a minute later, Hermione had tamed Callie's hair into two perfectly adorable pigtails, which hung halfway between her ears and shoulders.

"What do you say, Callie?" Hermione reminded her.

"Thank ooooo," she sang as she skipped through the hall toward the staircase.

"Stop right there, Callista Rose!" Hermione's voice was firm but amused. "Have you forgotten something?"

"Oopsie," the girl's cheeks turned reddened. "Callie no say bye-bye daddy." She immediately ran to Kingsley's door, knocking quickly and yelling a stream of "Daddydaddydaddydaddy!" until the door opened to reveal Kingsley dressed in his work robes, wand in hand. He was obviously in a hurry, but he stopped to scoop his daughter up, hug her tight, and kiss her forehead. "Bye-bye, daddy!" she said sweetly.

"Goodbye, Callie. Have fun with your Aunt Mione." He placed a quick kiss on top of Hermione's head as well before rushing down the stairs toward the receiving room.

As she and Callie followed him, she reminded the little girl of the rules of their "game" they always played while in the city. She giggled and nodded, happy just to be spending time with Hermione. Before they flooed to Diagon Alley, Hermione tied a sash around Callie's waist, knotting the other end around her own wrist. Then, she picked her up and cast a strong disillusionment charm on both the child and the sash. She'd seen a similar concept put to use in the muggle world. At the time, she thought it was barbaric, but really, how else would one expect to keep track of an invisible two-year old?

Three hours later, the pair were still playing "Follow the Invisible Leader," which meant Callie was dragging Hermione all around Diagon Alley, from Florean Fortescue's where they discretely shared a chocolate and cotton candy ice cream cone, to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes where she left the proud owner of a bright blue pygmy puff (Hermione held onto him for safe keeping). Hermione was currently trying to steer Callie toward Madame Malkin's but she stopped abruptly when she felt a familiar prickling at the back of her neck. Callista, who had suddenly been yanked backwards, tugged on Hermione's skirt to see what was the matter.

Hermione, who had suddenly become very nervous about being out in the open, led Callie around the back of Eyelop's. When she was almost certain nobody could see she grabbed Callie's wrists, slinging her onto her back. "Hold on tight, like a horsey ride," she whispered. Twirling the sash around them both like a sling, she grabbed the other end and pulled tight to secure the girl to her back while she gripped her wand equally as tightly with her other hand. To look at her, no one would've guessed that her right hand held anything but her two shopping bags. No one, that is, except for Draco Malfoy.

o~oOo~o

"Sweet Morgana!" Draco murmured as he quickly retreated to the bustling street, hiding in plain sight amid the afternoon throng of witches and wizards. He fervently hoped that Granger hadn't seen his face. As soon as his tracking spell indicated that the witch was in Diagon Alley, he'd shot through the floo. He'd been following her all morning and hadn't noticed a trace of suspicion until a moment ago. Not that he hadn't noticed her suspicious behavior. He wasn't some dunderheaded Hufflepuff! The woman had been wandering the alley aimlessly, stopping only to buy a ridiculous fuzzy animal from Weasley's and a chocolate and cotton candy ice cream from Fortescue's when her favourite was obviously hazelnut. _Wait a minute. How did I know that? I don't make a habit of memorizing everyone's favourite ice cream flavours, do I? I don't even want to think of the alternative!_

Draco didn't even have time to fret about the direction in which his mind was traveling because instantaneously, three things happened. He felt five claw-like fingernails dig into his shoulder from behind, his stomach felt like it was being ripped out of his body, and the world swirled around him before turning impossibly dark. Then, the nails were gone from his shoulder, replaced by a wand jabbing into his neck.

"You were following me," hissed a deceptively calm female voice. Knowing who his abductor was did nothing to lessen the fear that froze him in place. Since the death of his aunt and given the current situation, this witch was probably the most dangerous female in the world. "Why?" The whispered word lingered between them in the thick, lightless air.

Gulping, Draco replied, "Gr-Granger." _Merlin damn his voice! _Clearing his throat, he continued. "Lovely to see you as well. Would you mind lowering your wand? I've no intention of harming you."

Feeling the wand inching away from his person, he slowly turned to face the fuming witch. He could practically feel the waves of rage radiating from her. "That's better, isn't it?" he said cheerily.

"Answer the question, Malfoy!" Granger demanded through gritted teeth, prodding at his chest with her wand.

Draco gasped as he felt the raw magic leak from her wand prickling his skin. He decided that his best chance at not getting cursed would be to calm her down before telling the truth. Stalling was necessary. "How did you know it was me?" _There! A nice way of skirting around the issue. _

"Your shoes," she answered simply. "You might consider something less ostentatious than polished dragon hide the next time you dabble in espionage," she scoffed.

Draco rewarded himself with a small smile of commendation. _Nothing distracts her like bragging about her brilliant mind. A truly exceptional diversion!_

"I'll keep that in mind," he muttered smugly.

He heard a huff of annoyance and a shuffle of feet. He could sense her relaxing across from him in the small space.

"Are you really not going to tell me?" she whined. Yes, whined. Like a petulant child. The woman was obviously used to being handed information at the drop of a hat. Draco laughed under his breath. She swatted at his arm.

"It's not funny! I could press charges on you for stalking, you know. It wouldn't look good on your record, especially if you're still pursuing the Head of Magical Sports position."

"You remembered?" Draco was genuinely surprised she would recall such a trivial piece of information he mentioned at his post-trial photo shoot.

"Of course, but that's neither here nor there. You might as well tell me why you've been following me the last month before I assume the worst. Harry didn't put you up to this, did he?"

"It's just…you had been out of work and I was concerned about you. I know you're keeping secrets, Granger. I know who you're keeping locked up at the mansion."

Draco was pushed back up against the wall, Granger's wand digging into his throat yet again before he could've said "Slytherin."

"What. Did. You. Say?" Granger's snarling voice was high and shrill. It seemed she was about to lose it. If Draco hadn't been at the business end of her wand, he would've found the scenario very interesting. As it was, he counted himself lucky to be alive.

"You heard me," he rasped out, not without difficulty.

Just then, a soft whimper and sniffle came from behind Granger who gasped and backed quickly away from Draco. "This conversation is _not _finished." She waved her wand and a small amount of light illuminated the way out of what Draco now recognized as the back room of the Leaky Cauldron. In the half second it took her to turn on her heel and disapparate, he caught a full view of a frightened child's face over her shoulder. Then, he was left alone, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. It seemed that there was more to this story than meets the eye.

_Blue._ The word wouldn't leave his mind even as he schooled his features and walked out of the room to floo back to the flat. Once he was home, he headed straight for his desk where he sketched out the image while it was still fresh in his mind. When he was finished, his parchment was covered with the round face of a toddler with light chocolate skin, dark bushy curls escaping from pigtails, full lips, a button nose, and the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

Staring at his drawing, his mind continued to sift through images of everyone he knew, trying to make sense of the girl. He may never have payed attention in Muggle Studies, but he knew enough about genetics to know that Shacklebolt's deep brown eyes and Hermione's chestnut ones would never produce the blue orbs of the little girl. So, unless he was wrong and there was another dark-skinned, blue-eyed man that could've been Granger's lover, the girl was obviously not hers.

Draco wanted to be ecstatic. He had solid evidence that the Prophet was lying and he had been right all along. But something just didn't add up. Where was the child's mother? And why were they all being so secretive? He felt like the answer was staring him right in the face but he was missing it. It was absolutely maddening. He just needed a rest. And he refused to think about what would happen once Granger got to him again. Shuddering at the memory of her enraged voice, he thought, _it won't be pretty._


End file.
